


flower language

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ben Solo Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Flower Smuggling, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Smuggler Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Ben is given to understand these damned things are very beautiful when they bloom. But as far as he’s concerned, they’re the biggest pains in the ass he’s ever suffered. Running spice would be easier than this. At least spice doesn’t threaten to wither and die when the temperature strays more than 0.3 degrees one way or the other in too short a time. Or gods forbid he try to reach his rendezvous point early. They don’t like sudden acceleration or deceleration either. He raises his hands in a defensive gesture and places himself between Poe and the goods. “Please don’t do that. They don’t like it.”





	flower language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis1000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/gifts).



“You know,” Poe says, hands on his hips as he paces the cargo hold. His boots click evenly on the plasteel floor except for when he decides to scuff the heel and leave behind a dark smudge. He’s doing it on purpose, Ben is perfectly well aware. There are years’ worth of petty scuff marks on the floor because of him and the various ways Ben’s job has displeased him. “I’ve seen you pull a lot of dick moves in your life, but this one might just be the worst. Seriously, what did these plants do to you?”

Ben’s got a lot of answers ready to be rattled off, but the truest one gets there first. If nothing else, at least Poe won’t be disappointed further. “They were coveted by rich people halfway across the galaxy from their native environment. Rich people who are actually willing to pay for them. Unlike the rich people who say they’ll pay and then don’t.”

There are a lot of those kind of people in the galaxy, Ben’s come to find out. Really puts a damper on his whole profession.

Poe’s eyebrow rides high on his forehead. If he’s not careful, it’s gonna settle there permanently and Ben will have to do something really stupid, like kiss the wrinkles away himself or smooth them into nonexistence with his thumb, more gentle than either of them really care to be most of the time. Poe, glaring now, says, “So, what? You decided to liberate them from their home world and sell them?”

Poe bends toward a stack of crates and raps his knuckles against one of the glass containers nestled inside. Ben doesn’t wince, but it’s a near thing, especially when the plant’s fronds shake in disgruntlement, the tightly closed bud shivering with rage from the very center. Its neighbors, sensing the first one’s unhappiness, begin to sway in sympathy.

Ben is given to understand these damned things are very beautiful when they bloom. But as far as he’s concerned, they’re the biggest pains in the ass he’s ever suffered. Running spice would be easier than this. At least spice doesn’t threaten to wither and die when the temperature strays more than 0.3 degrees one way or the other in too short a time. Or gods forbid he try to reach his rendezvous point early. They don’t like sudden acceleration or deceleration either and had barely survived that first jump to hyperspace. He raises his hands in a defensive gesture and places himself between Poe and the goods. “Please don’t do that. They don’t like it.”

“From the looks of it, they don’t like anything.” And that is true enough. Just getting them out of the ground and transplanted had nearly killed the lot of them. “They don’t belong here, Ben.”

“Lots of things don’t belong where they end up. Doesn’t stop it from happening.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Poe sighs. “You do realize that there are sound ecological reasons for why people don’t do this?”

“You do realize there are sound financial reasons for why people _do_ do this, right?” Ben could count each and every one of them if Poe wants him to. It’s a lot more credits than he’s seen in a year and he hasn’t even been shot at once. As far as he’s concerned, this is the greatest job he’s ever pulled. And anyway, there’s no way the plants are gonna survive anywhere but on their home planet. He tells Poe as much, insists that no harm is going to come to the places he’s dragging these damned things to. Everyone involved knows it.

It’s basically free credits.

Poe’s hand scrubs over his jaw, pauses over his mouth to conceal a smile. “We both know you could swindle credits out of anyone you wanted.”

That’s true and not true at the same time. Sure, he learned from the best how to be a gambler. Uncle Lando still shows him tricks from time to time even though he’s a long retired, thoroughly aboveboard and respectable citizen of the galaxy these days. And even with the touch of the Force that clings to him, he doesn’t feel right not earning his way the way everyone else does.

His relationship with the Force has never sat well with him; it still gives him nightmares sometimes.

“Are you really that worried about it? Or is this one of those situations where you like to remind me how much of a scoundrel I am just in case I forget somewhere along the way?” Ben asks. The nice thing about the flower smuggling racket is he’s probably the scariest guy involved in it. Puts him a leg further up than in any other criminal enterprise into which he’s dipped his toes. And anyway, he’d already paid his suppliers their cut. If Poe asks him to, he’ll probably dump the whole lot. Start over on a fresh scheme.

Gods, when did he go this soft?

Probably about the same time he found himself dubiously charmed by a New Republic Navy man with a big mouth and bigger opinions and a brain full of optimism that was somehow still cynical enough to make Ben believe he’s not a fool, too.

Poe’s hands fall to his hips again and he resumes pacing. And that’s how Ben can tell that it does bother him, but he doesn’t want to say anything more or otherwise admit to having a feeling about something. Berate Ben, sure. He’d do that until the stars burn themselves out. Admit that he’s berating Ben because something’s got to him? That’s statistically a whole lot rarer.

Which is fair, really. It’s not like Ben enjoys talking about this shit either. The only reason this whole thing doesn’t fall apart around them is because they don’t talk about it. A law-abiding man like Poe, no matter how much of a daredevil he might be, really doesn’t have any business cavorting with a guy like Ben.

The fact that Ben has parents who beat the odds shouldn’t factor into it at all. And yet, they’re both very aware that people with as much standing as Senator Organa can totally get away with marrying the infamous Han Solo without doing too much damage to her reputation—or his. Ben always tries to remember that even if Poe doesn’t like what he does, he doesn’t actually ask him to find a different vocation.

“I’m not worried,” Poe insists.

“You just care about the environmental ramifications of introducing new species of plants to non-native planets?”

Poe flushes and averts his gaze and Ben can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and catches him by surprise. It’s so quaint and unexpected, Poe actually caring about that, that Ben has to step up to Poe, catch Poe’s face between his hands and tip his head down to brush a kiss across his forehead. “That’s so fucking adorable.”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up,” Poe answers, warm with reluctant fondness. “I didn’t come here to waste my shore leave getting mocked.”

His eyes cut to the crates, the glass cylinders, the stupid flowers that don’t seem to matter as much as they did before.

Maybe he can afford to dump the flowers.


End file.
